Poem
By Yi Li
I love cherries.
The fruit, juice, jam,
blossoms, prints on a summer
dress, in a black forest cake…
The fruit, juice, jam,
blossoms, prints on a summer
dress, in a black forest cake…
Category
Concrete or Pattern Poetry
A type of poetry where the visual arrangement of text and space forms a meaningful shape or image.
Showing 1-20 of 43 results
- PoemBy Danielle Shandiin Emersonłeeshch’iih
across shitáá’
on the inside
of shilátsíín
from the
beesh bii’ ko’í
in the corner
of the
hogan.
My… - PoemBy Doug Gonzalezonly I stood in the rain with wet skin. I could taste the dew though it had not yet found my lips. …
- PoemBy Doug GonzalezCan You Hope Remember Remobilize Reorganize Revitalize Rewrite Relearn Repair Return Can You Know…
- PoemBy Noelani PitersI
remember I exist
at the braiding of
consciousand con
sumer,Kanaka
and culpable,
desire anddesired… - PoemBy Russell AtkinsOh didn’t it """ """ """
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rain
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Oh did
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- Glossary TermsA type of poetry where the visual arrangement of text and space forms a meaningful shape or image.
- PoemBy Alison C. RollinsI
see you,
peeping Tom,
beside yourself with
rage at what I done did,
hands gone idle from deprivation.
I see you, Uncle, with your fingers at the
trapdoor, to place crumbs of a biscuit at my mouth
in the dark. Through a hole the size of a... - PoemBy Alison C. RollinsI am
a product
of my time.
Time is a body
that resembles
a sound without a scale.
Forever foreclosed fortitude.
In heaven, the dinner bell rings
as elegy. The porch-light stars turn
on their mothering moths. Betrayal
takes at least two, and wherever two
or more are gathered, I am... - PoemBy Gabrielle Joy Lessansa muted longing for a
being of elsewhere without a
boundary or a
body like a
ball to throw me around in a
pig skin of public parts
of policies zero
privacies of every
body gets a
turn to frisk me of
numbered bodies &
trophied bodies &
saturated bodies... - ArticleBy Natalie Earnhart & The EditorsInterventionist Poet and Performer of (Soma)tic Poetry Ritual
- PoemBy Tishani DoshiI’ll keep this brief. I remember the shock of Mr. G’s tiger-striped trunks
at the Madras Gymkhana Club. Nothing to conceal, everything to
declare, like a Mills & Boon hero. Shiver of ball and sack, acres
of hairy scrub. We could not imagine... - PoemBy Tishani DoshiThis
far north
the sun rises
and sinks in the
same spot. Insects
announce the apocalypse
and fog moves through all
the uncountable hours like a
bright gray scar. The forest is
awash in a dial of light more
luminiferous than a Canaletto. I
misuse the words forest, woodland,
jungle because I...